


Words Are Too Hard To Keep On Their Own

by smc_27



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, coworkers in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22107088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smc_27/pseuds/smc_27
Summary: About half hour into the day this guy walks in wearing a wrinkled blue button down and a leather cross body bag. He smiles at her and takes his bag off as he stands at the desk directly across from hers. He reaches over their monitors, extending a hand to her.“Harry,” he says, simply.“Allie,” she replies, shaking his hand.“I know,” he tells her, and she thinks there’s something arrogant about that being his answer to her introduction.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	Words Are Too Hard To Keep On Their Own

This is the thing she’s good at that Cassandra never was. 

That’s not true. She just quit all the other things as a child because she didn’t want her sister to feel badly. Like ballet, and soccer. Things Cassandra couldn’t do because of her heart.

Okay, so this is the thing she’s good at that they can be compared evenly on. Cassandra can write creatively, and write poems and make up worlds, but Allie’s a journalist. She’s an excellent one. She has a master’s and a few years of experience under her belt, and she took this job in Portland because she wanted a change and it’s an up and coming website doing really cool and interesting things and experimenting with new ways of delivering news, and content with more depth than snack taste tests.

Day one at her job - just day four of her living in Portland - she sits down at her desk for the first time. The office is open concept, and there’s a stack of swag on her desk including a hoodie, pen, notebook, water bottle, ceramic coffee mug with a lid, and a MacBook and iPhone. The guy who hired her sits her down, gives her a sheet with a bunch of login info on it and tells her to spend the first hour getting her email and systems set up, and then she’s got a meeting with HR, during which she’ll be shown around the office and introduced to all 75 of the other people who work here. It seems like a lot, even though she’s coming from a workplace that had hundreds of people and an entire campus. It’s all just unfamiliar, down to the fact that she had to circle the building twice to find their designated parking area, because she hadn’t thought to ask. 

She sits down and gets started on logging into all the things she needs to. There are welcome messages to her on Slack almost immediately, which makes her feel great. She’s put her photo up so people will hopefully know who she is before she even meets them in person in a bit. She’s banking on that making the office walk around/meet and greet feel a little less awkward. 

About half hour into the day, when she’s enrolling for her benefits (which she negotiated to start from day one, not after her three month probationary period is up), this guy walks in wearing a wrinkled blue button down and a leather cross body bag. He smiles at her and takes his bag off as he stands at the desk directly across from hers. He reaches over their monitors, extending a hand to her. 

“Harry,” he says, simply. 

“Allie,” she replies, shaking his hand. 

“I know,” he tells her, and maybe that’s because of Slack, or they told him who the new hire is, or they’re on the same team. She has no idea. But she does think there’s something arrogant about that being his answer to her introduction. “I think we have some time set tomorrow.”

She has no idea. She hasn’t gotten through all the calendar invites in her inbox yet. Her week is already filling up. She’s trying not to feel overwhelmed. 

He sits down, pulls his laptop out of his bag and hooks it up to his monitor, then peeks around the screen at her. He’s like, really attractive, actually. She’s distracted by the way his hair curls just that little bit at his forehead and looks totally accidental and not at all styled.

“I’m gonna get a coffee. Want?”

She smiles, despite herself. She doesn’t even know where the kitchen is. “Yeah, actually.”

“I won’t steal HR’s thunder. They love showing the kitchen and all its snacks.” Allie doesn’t mean to laugh, but like, she’s coming from Buzzfeed. She can’t say she’s going to be super impressed by anything in that regard. “How d’you take it?”

“Black,” she answers. 

Harry smirks, stands and says, “Same,” as he walks away before she can thank him.

… … …

They don’t really do casual Fridays - the office is super casual anyway - but she wouldn’t wear a sweatshirt on any other day but Friday. It’s just a thing. She’s got good style and she wants people to know it. 

But it’s the first day of the year where the temperature is projected to be cool enough to not be roasting in long sleeves by noon, and she wants to wear these skinny jeans, Stanford sweatshirt, and her lace up boots. 

Harry’s there when she walks in, which is a first. He leans back in his chair, cocks his brow. 

“Stanford?”

She shrugs, looks down at her chest. “Congrats. You can read.”

He laughs. This goofy teasing thing came pretty quickly and now, two weeks in, it’s sort of the norm. He’d made fun of her unruly hair as though he’d had a leg to stand on. She’d made a comment about how his phone had been blowing up on his desk when he was in a meeting, and then yesterday, when she’d brought him a coffee and he’d already had one sitting on his desk he’d said something about how all the girls were bringing him presents and she rolled her eyes and told him to chill. It’s super harmless, if not a little juvenile. She likes it. 

“Yale,” he says, and she figures he’s telling her where he went, even though she didn’t ask. 

“Huh.” She opens her laptop and sets her mug down - she’s taken to brewing coffee at home and bringing it in, trying not to spend money at all at least three days a week. It’s a little challenge for herself. (Moving is expensive as hell.) “I grew up in West Ham.”

“Seriously?” he asks, and she doesn’t answer, because why wouldn’t she be serious? “New Haven.”

“That’s hilarious,” she says, though she’s not laughing. “So Yale was like, in your blood, I guess?”

He shrugs. He does that a lot. She pushes her chair over because he pauses a moment and she wants to see his face, just to be sure she hasn’t offended him. 

“It was my dad’s dying wish.”

Shit. 

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely. “I didn’t...I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s fine,” he says, and she doesn’t believe him. “Why Stanford?”

And he’s been so honest with her that she thinks she owes him at least the same in return. 

“It was far enough away from my overachieving sister that people would stop comparing me to her.”

Harry gives her this genuine smile that lets her know he appreciates her candor. 

“Wanna do a story on how fucked up family dynamics influence your whole entire life?” he asks, and she laughs so hard that Helena, two desk pods over, looks their way.

… … …

She’s been trying to walk as much as possible, or take public transit. It seems wasteful to drive her car everywhere all the time, and work pays for her transit pass but not parking. She’s considering getting a bike, but wants to know her way around a bit better before she commits. Having a car has been amazing as she decorates her place; she’s needed it to lug around the things she buys. She’s sort of been going room by room and picking up things to make it look just the way she wants. Honestly, she likes that this place feels more permanent than her cheap apartment in L.A. When she made the move, she knew if she was going to relocate, she’d want to at least consider that being the place she put down roots. So she didn’t want to live in some shit apartment. What she has, instead, is this amazing, completely private ‘guest house’ behind someone’s bungalow. It’s a studio, basically, but there’s a great differentiation between the sleeping area and the living room and kitchen, which are all bright and bordered by windows. She really, really loves it even more than she thought she would. It feels like a home. Even more so now that she adds little touches and it starts to smell like her.

So yeah, she walked today. And she should’ve known that it would start to rain. She’s living in _Portland_. 

It’s about 3:30 when the skies open. She looks up through the skylight that sits above their desks and sees the sky is black, and the rain is hitting hard. All she can really do is hope that it stops before she has to leave. 

It doesn’t. She’s still working at 6:00 and figuring she’ll just spend the money on a Lyft, when Harry comes back to his desk - he’s been in meetings all afternoon - and spins his car keys around his index finger. 

“Want a ride?”

“Depends,” she says, just to play it cool and not act like he’s saving her or something. She’s got other options. “How fast is your car?”

He scoffs. “Faster than the fucking bus,” he mutters. Allie laughs out loud and starts packing up her stuff. “Good day?”

Allie shrugs, locks her laptop in her desk drawer - she usually takes it home, but she was in before 8:00 today and stayed til 6:00, and she’s really trying to have a better relationship to her work than, you know, just doing it all the time and nothing else. Which’ll be easier once she’s got friends here. 

Anyway, she’s working on this investigative piece that she thought sounded really cool, and she’s realizing all the things she thinks are cool about it are things that are really hard to, you know, prove, and source, and actually make reputable claims on. 

Instead of saying all that, she asks, “What’re you working on?”

Harry holds the door open for her and they start down the stairs. He zips his wildly expensive rain jacket and pulls his hood up over his hair. She doesn’t even have an umbrella, and she’s wearing a wool sweater she hopes doesn’t actually get ruined because of this. 

“Honestly not much,” he answers, and she laughs, looks over at him. “I just finished that thing on college sports, or whatever. Took a break day.”

‘That thing’ he’s talking about is a ridiculously long expose on the pressure cooker of college sports and how, dependent on the staff, and athletes’ access to psychological resources, can actually be a significant trauma that some people never recover from. She thinks it’s totally reasonable for him to take a day. 

“Oh shit,” he says when they get to the bottom of the stairs and stand at the exit to the parking lot. It’s absolutely pouring. “Wait here.” He hands her his bag and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I’ll pull up.”

Allie watches him run across the parking lot, get into a black Mercedes, and drive as close to the door as he can get without driving on the sidewalk. She hates how much she likes that he did that so she didn’t have to walk in the pouring rain any longer than necessary. She runs outside, opens the door and gets in, setting his bag by her feet. 

He asks her where they’re going, and the part of her that is probably influenced by watching too many movies with her sister almost wants to tell him to just drive.

… … …

Helena invites her to brunch on a weekend when her boyfriend isn’t in town. He is most of the time. Or he has been. Allie doesn’t really get it. Luke works at the university in Eugene and lives there throughout most of the week, but comes into Portland on weekends. He does something with their athletics venues, or something. Apparently, Allie’s learned, he has to work an occasional weekend. Also, he doesn’t like this one vegetarian brunch spot that Helena loves, so she tries to go when he’s not around. Helena says a few of her girlfriends are going, and that Allie’ll love them. 

Honestly, she doesn’t really know what to think about statements like that, but she’s eager to meet new people. She doesn’t have to like everyone, but she does have to try and be open to it. 

She gets to the place before anyone else, so she gets in line and puts them down for a table of five, which is what Helena said was confirmed yesterday, and then texts to say she’s there. She was so anxious about this that she asked Helena to see pictures of the other people joining them so she’d at least be familiar with faces. Thankfully, Helena arrives next. Then Elle and Kelly, then Becca arrives once they’ve already been seated. Allie ordered a cup of tea and the server sets it down just as Becca sits next to her. She places her phone face up on the table and there’s a picture of a super cute kid as her wallpaper. Right. Becca’s the one who’s a teacher and a single mom. Elle’s the shy one who Helena has known since childhood, and that means that Kelly is the doctor. Or resident. Or whatever stage she’s at in her career. All Allie knows is that apparently it’s rare that their schedules all work out that they can get together like this. 

She feels actually super good that Helena invited her. These are like, her closest friends. Allie and Helena have only hung out a couple times. Once, they went for a drink after work, then another time, they checked out this open mic night Allie heard about and was talking about at lunch one day. Maybe this invite means she’s one of the cool kids. 

The whole day is great. They have this amazing meal - Allie can see why this place is Helena’s favourite - and then decide to walk over to an art market and wander through stalls. Allie gets a cup of coffee because everyone else is. She also spends probably way too much money on this really pretty succulent holder that she has the perfect spot for. But everyone reassures her it’s really cute and she should treat herself. 

At the end of the day, she leaves with everyone’s numbers in her phone and Kelly saying they should get tickets one of Portland’s amazing theatre performances, because they both like plays and theatre enough to go. She feels fantastic. 

Monday when she gets to work, she and Helena are chatting about Saturday when Harry walks in. 

“Oh, so you’re in with the mean girls now?”

Helena rolls her eyes and physically turns her body to cut him out of their conversation. Allie laughs. 

“He only calls them the mean girls because none of them will sleep with him.”

Allie looks over at him and he has this little grin on his face that she thinks he’s trying to make seem innocent. He shrugs his shoulder and Helena shakes her head.

After he’s gone to get coffee and Helena has gone back to her own desk, they’re just sort of working away when he rolls his chair over so he can look at her around their computers, and says, “I’ve never really tried to date any of them.”

Allie scoffs. “And if you ever did really try, you’d succeed, right?”

“Your words, not mine.” She laughs, and then he pushes his hand through his hair. “I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to get with every single woman I meet, or something.”

She says, “Okay,” but she wonders why he’d care what she thinks.

… … …

She needs a break from her desk, and it’s 4pm and she knows she’ll be here until at least 6. She’s got way too much fact checking to do. The only thing that’ll fuel her to get through it is snacks, so she’s in the kitchen filling up a dish with peanut butter M&Ms when Harry walks in with the two mugs that’ve been sitting on his desk since yesterday afternoon. He’s been busy. They’ve both been busy. Neither of them are messy, but she definitely keeps her desk super tidy and his is a little less so. It’s a stupid thing to notice or compare.

“Early bird dinner of champions.”

Allie rolls her eyes, keeps eating. Whatever. 

“Working late, need something to tide me over until I go home and order pizza, snack of desperate writer.”

Harry lets out a laugh, washes his mugs rather than just leaving them in the sink like most people do. 

“Can I have one?” he asks, then reaches over. She jerks her bowl away. 

“Get your own!”

He grins. “Things taste better when you convince someone else to give ‘em up.”

Her mind goes to a ridiculously inappropriate place and she just shakes her head. At herself, she thinks. Maybe. 

He’s just smirking and drying a mug, watching her, as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking. 

Why she gives him a blue M&M out of her bowl, she literally doesn’t fucking know. They’re having a whole dirty conversation without really using proper words. 

Harry locks eyes with her as he chews, and Allie refuses to blush.

… … ...

She gets lost in Powell’s. Literally lost. She’s got a coffee in her hand and at least five titles in a little stack as she looks for more interesting Young Adult fiction to buy, because honestly some of the best books she’s ever read are from this genre. She doesn’t know where to go to get out of here, but she’s not in a big rush anyway. 

When someone comes up behind her and asks, “What’ya reading?” she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

She spins around, hair flying, and Harry’s laughing at her even as she shoves his shoulder. 

“You scared the hell out of me!” 

“I’m not even sorry.” He grins and pushes the book in her hand closed so he can see the title. “What’re you doing?”

Allie can’t help herself. “Flying a hot air balloon.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “What’s it look like? What are you doing here?”

“Also flying a hot air balloon.” _Jackass_. He tilts his head a bit towards a nearby section. “Looking for a biography on Elizabeth Woodville.” Okay, she’s surprised. He shrugs. “I read an interesting thing about how she basically changed the entire history of the monarchy. Sounds important.”

She’s not going to tell him that he and Cassandra were obsessed with The White Queen and that’s where most, if not all, of her knowledge of the woman comes from.

“Look into Margaret of Beaufort while you’re at it.” He looks intrigued. Impressed? “I know some stuff.”

He laughs a bit and checks the time on the fancy watch he wears. “What’re you doing for the rest of the day?”

Allie shrugs. “Probably buying these books, maybe a scented candle and a bottle of wine, and staying up too late reading?”

“Nerd,” he says with a grin. “Kinda cute, though.”

Okay, she doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You?”

“I’m going to the Trailblazers game later with a friend.”

She’s annoyed at her disappointment. She sort of thought he was going to invite her to do something. This whole thing is stupid. 

“Have fun,” she tells him genuinely. 

Harry puts his hands in his pockets and looks really good doing it. “Your thing sounds better,” he says to her quietly as he walks past her to leave.

Okay, what in the hell?

… … …

“When’s your flight?” he asks on their last day of work before the holiday break. 

She really, really appreciates that the entire office closes the Friday before Christmas and doesn’t open again until after the new year. Allie’s honestly barely doing anything productive. She’s reading a little. It’s like 2:30 in the afternoon and people are already starting to leave. She’s not sure how long she’ll last, but she’s sort of enjoying sipping this coffee with Baileys and checking out some long reads on the recent changes to Oregon’s Supreme Court. 

Harry halfway sitting on her desk, crossing his arms and starting to talk to her isn't entirely unwelcome. (It never is.)

“Sunday,” she tells him, and he nods. She knows he’s leaving tomorrow. “Too bad we’re not on the same flight.” 

“Yeah? Why’s that?” he asks, and like, this is the thing, right? She can’t just say shit with him. He asks her questions and makes her folllow up and explain herself. 

Allie shrugs her shoulder and leans back in her chair. “Wouldn’t mind the company.” Harry grins a little and looks downward. He’s been wearing these Blundstones lately which she wouldn’t have expected but she finds hot anyway. 

They talk a little, and when he leaves at 3:30, he offers her a ride home. She’s not going to decline. 

She’s curled up on the sofa in her parents’ living room with Cassandra, watching The Holiday and drinking wine. She’s been home three days and has another three before heading back to Portland. Her family seems to have been worried that she was like, teetering on the edge, or something. The first two days, her parents treated her like she’d been running from something, or whatever. She has no idea what changed their minds, but she knows Cassandra was up before her this morning, so maybe she advocated on Allie’s behalf. 

Her phone lights up on the table and she leans forward, sets her glass down when she sees his name on the screen. She knows she’s going to respond. 

He’s written, _‘Remind me next year when I’m booking flights that I was ready to leave after two days.’_

Allie laughs and types out a response. She didn’t expect to him from him at all over the break. She says she’s having a great time with her family, and he jokingly (she thinks) says, _‘Can I come over?’_

She asks if he wants to get pajamas that match hers and Cassandra’s, and then sends him the selfie they took earlier. Ever since they were kids, their parents have gotten them - before Christmas, always - pajamas that are either exactly the same, or very coordinated. This year, they’ve got sprinkles on them. Cassandra’s are pink with multi coloured sprinkles, and Allie’s are blue with the same pattern. She sort of loves them, if she’s being honest. 

Harry writes back _‘Well, you’re insanely cute.’_

She doesn’t know if he means her, or the two of them. 

He sends a selfie taken in front of literally the most elaborately decorated Christmas Tree she’s ever seen. He’s wearing a knit sweater and Allie thinks he’s trying to look goofy. He’s failed. Looks good as ever.

… … ...

She gets knocked on her ass by a cold a few weeks after she’s returned from the break, and she’s terrified it’s going to turn into pneumonia, because that has happened to her enough times in her life for it to be a legitimate fear. She calls out from work and holes up in her place for a couple days. On the third day - a Saturday - Elle texts her and says she’s gotten her flu shot and doesn’t mind coming over to help Allie with anything she might need, or bring supplies. She _is_ out of tissues and she’d love some more ginger tea because she had the last bag earlier this morning.

Elle shows up with two kinds of soup, bone broth, and despite Allie’s insistence that she doesn’t have to, does the dishes in the sink and uses a Lysol wipe on the surfaces and doorknobs. 

This is a good friend, and it’s a bit wild because they’ve actually only met a handful of times at most. 

Harry texts her, as she and Elle watch a documentary on city building in North America and how urban planning is basically one of the most complex things ever. He tells her about a thing Dustin said today in the kitchen during lunch, sends the cringe emoji because that guy is like the most awkward person ever. Allie laughs and puts her phone down. When it lights up again and Elle sees who it is, she’s got this look on her face like she wants to say something. 

“You two get along well.”

Allie doesn’t really know how to reply. It’s sort of just a fact, she supposes? She doesn’t actually even remember how they came to exchange numbers. But it’s not weird that they text, right? 

“I guess?” she says, and even to her, it sounds a bit defensive, or something.

“He always seemed like such a player,” Elle comments, and Allie isn’t going to make this worse by commenting on the girl’s use of such a random, old school term. “But maybe that’s just ‘cause he looks the way he does and knows exactly what that gives him access to.”

Allie nods. She thinks that’s true, for sure. God, she’s been next to him in line at Starbucks when the barista randomly smiles at him and offers him a free sample of whatever drink. Or when he holds the door open for women and they sort of swoon at him, or whatever. She usually just rolls her eyes - either literally or just internally - but she does think Elle’s got a point. Those things don’t just happen repeatedly with no affect on how you see yourself. He’s got to understand that his looks and his demeanor mean he’s got special treatment at least sometimes. Often, if she’s being honest.

“Helena made it sound like you all don’t like him.”

Elle laughs, shakes her head. “She just wanted to make sure he knew none of us are here for his bullshit.”

Allie smiles and pulls her blanket over herself. 

Honestly, she doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t even know what bullshit Elle’s talking about.

… … …

She’s researching for a long piece she finally got approval on. It’s on the treatment of women in this convent in the middle of the century. Her previous editor wanted to tread lightly. Her new one told her to run with it. God, she loves this place. 

She knew what she was getting into. When she’d stumbled on the history of this place, she absolutely knew it was a can of worms and getting information would be both difficult and emotionally exhausting. She’s spoken to a few women who were there. She’s spoken to kids who grew up there. She’s spoken to people who were sent there to give birth and ended up being kept there against their will.

She’s listening to the audio from a call she had yesterday and Harry’s sitting across from her, laughing at something, and maybe it’s the juxtaposition to this person in her ear talking about three years of abuse she endured at the hands of people who said they’d protect her, but she’s a little pissed. She pauses the recording, tugs out her earbuds and gets up from her desk, walks away. 

Maybe, really, what she needed was a break. It’s not until she’s in the kitchen that she realizes she literally hasn’t gotten up from her desk in hours. 

Harry walks in as she’s filling her coffee cup. He slides his across the counter and she fills it, despite being a little annoyed.

“All good?” he asks, and she shrugs her shoulder and looks up at him. He’s standing close. 

“I didn’t think this would get to me,” she admits, and that’s really the truth. She’s worked on depressing stuff before. It doesn’t get easier. She doesn’t think it’s supposed to, really. 

Harry’s just nodding like he understands. And of course he does. He’s done stuff like this, too. One of the first pieces he worked on after she started here was this wild story about this political figure who was running a human trafficking ring. 

“Let’s get a drink after work,” he says. It’s not what she was expecting.

It’s way more welcome than she’d like to let on. 

“Where?” she asks, and tries (and totally fails) to make it sound like she hasn’t agreed and won’t until she knows the location. 

Harry, of course, won’t give her what she wants. He just smiles and says, “I know a place.”

So yeah. That’s how she ends up in his loft in her sock feet, rain hitting the windows as she takes in the view and he pours her some wine. 

What the hell is happening?

(Exactly what she wants to happen, or she would’ve said something on the way here.)

“I love my place, but this…” She turns around, glances around the space again. Harry’s smiling and walking towards her with two glasses in his hands. “It’s really great.”

“Yeah,” he says, and then sits back on this huge grey sofa he has. “Mom helped me with the downpayment. Perks of having family money.” Allie laughs. Yeah, she’s sure that’s the only perk. She sits next to him and pulls her leg up under her. “I didn’t say that to make it sound like…” She quirks her brow. “I’m paying her back.”

She just nods, glances around again. She loves this kind of building, these like, warehouse conversions. It’s not a tall building, but it’s gorgeous and has a great view of downtown. There’s exposed brick and some old wooden beams, and all his furniture is really nice, despite, she thinks, some of the pieces not actually going together. It all sort of works.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, and she furrows her brow. “Your story.”

“No,” she answers quickly, shaking her head. She just wants a break from it, and frankly, sitting here with him in his apartment is a really, really welcome distraction. “I wanna hear more about your family.”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles, and takes a drink. He’s not drinking wine, which means he opened a bottle just for her. He pushes a hand through his hair, and she thinks he’s trying to decide where to start. 

“We’re boring, New England rich white folk.” She thinks that’s reductive, tilts her head as she looks at him. “Mom’s a politician. Dad was an exec at McKinsey. He had a PhD in economics.”

“How’d he die?” she asks, and she’d worry it’s really crass if he hadn’t spoken of his ‘dead dad’ a bunch of times before. He’s pretty nonchalant about it. She doesn’t know how, really.

“Heart attack.” Allie feels herself freeze. “Yeah. He was super healthy. It was some undiagnosed defect, or something. He died in his sleep.”

“That’s...How do you even process that?”

She’s genuinely curious. She can’t fathom losing someone that close to her. And maybe part of the reason she’s feeling like her blood’s running cold is that heart disease hits way too close to home. She feels like since she was old enough to understand that Cassandra’s illness was serious, she’s been scared of her dying because her heart gives out. Now that they’re older and Cassandra’s solely responsible for her health, Allie always asks when appointments are and wants to know about new medications and changes to her lifestyle, and whatever. She doesn’t want to be blindsided. She can’t imagine how Harry must have felt to have a perfectly healthy father one day and a dead one the next. 

“Lots of drugs and bad decisions, then a shitload of therapy.”

She shouldn’t laugh, but it’s funny, a little. Or at least the way he says it is funny. She likes that he’s so candid about things. She doesn’t actually believe he’s this way with everyone. She wonders what makes her special.

She should tell him about Cassandra.

“My parents are dentists,” she blurts out instead. It’s safer. It’s easier. It means she doesn’t have to confront her fear of her sister dying. 

“Explains why you’ve got such a good smile.”

Allie gives him a look she’s sure is not at all cute. “What are you talking about?”

Harry looks downward, then sets his glass on the table. He seems...embarrassed, or something. 

“I was trying to flirt with you.”

“Hm.” He glances over from the corner of his eye. “You’re usually better at it than that.” There’s a little smile, and she bites her lip. She honestly thinks there’s never been anyone this attractive interested in her. “Harry.”

He turns his head, then, his elbows still resting on his knees. She slides her hand along his shoulder and up onto the back of his neck. This is stupid and reckless and not only do they work together, which isn’t even a big deal, really, but they share a fucking desk, practically, and if…

“I like you a lot,” he says like a confession, and she lets out a little breath, smiles at him, and then he’s looking at her lips. “I don’t…”

She should let him finish, but she kisses him instead. 

… … …

She’s in before he is, which isn’t new or different for them. 

Today, she’s really interested in what’s on her screen, focused solely on that and not on smiling or saying good morning to him. She can tell he’s looking at her, but she won’t stop pretending to read these emails. 

Like, excuse her for not knowing how to act around her coworker who she had sex with last night and who she said goodbye to at two in the morning while he had a blanket wrapped around his hips at his door. 

God. She’s blushing. Because he looked so fucking good when she was leaving that it was actually hard to do it. And it’s not even how he looks, but how he’d made her _feel_ , too. How his voice had sounded in her ear as he touched her, told her how pretty she is, how good she felt, how wet she was. She _knew_ , okay? She could feel that, too. And she’s not going to pretend that sex hasn’t, for the most part, been good for her, but she’s definitely never been with someone who cared as much about her pleasure as Harry apparently did. Does? She has no idea what to think or how to act around him, and she wants him again, she just doesn’t know if it’ll happen, if he wants it to, or…

Okay, no. The look he’d given her last night when he opened the door so she could go was so...well, _hot_ , and so seductive that she’d be crazy to think he was looking at it as a one time thing. And they’re not that stupid, right? They wouldn’t risk their working relationship being all messed up for a one night stand, would they?

He pulls her from her thoughts when he sets a coffee mug on her desk and smiles down at her. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi.” She reaches for the mug, cradles it in her hands. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Okay, it’s cute that he seems just a little nervous, too. “Wanna grab lunch?”

“It’s - “ she checks the time “ - 8:52.”

When he rolls his eyes and groans her name, she laughs out loud. Yeah, she thinks they might just be able to make this work without everyone knowing their business. 

… … …

By Friday, she thinks they’re going to give themselves away with the kinds of looks they’re sharing any time they’re in a position to make eye contact. Which is sort of all the time. 

He texts her from two feet away to ask _‘When can I see you again?’_ and she wants to laugh her ass off at his choice of words. 

She has him drive her home, then invites him in, and she doesn’t have any food, but he doesn’t seem to care, really, because he’s standing behind her and gathering her hair and kissing the side of her neck, saying food’s not important right now. 

“What’s important?” she asks, teasing, even as she reaches back to sink her hand into his hair, too. 

“You,” he murmurs, hand sliding up onto her stomach under her shirt. Her head tips back against his shoulder. “This.”

“What’s _this_?” she asks, and sort of worries he’ll think she’s asking him to define what they’re doing. That’s not what she means. 

He undoes the button of her jeans with one hand, which is sexy as fuck, and says, “How hot you are. How badly I want you.”

She lets out a little moan when his fingertips dip beneath the band of her underwear, then turns in his arms, drapes hers over his shoulders, and leans away when he tries to kiss her. 

“What else?”

He shakes his head, grins at her and flexes his fingers against her hips. “I feel like I’m doing all the talking.”

Allie laughs, moves away but grabs the front of his shirt. “You’re better with words than I am.”

“Lies.”

She sort of pushes him back onto her bed, then straddles him and loves the way he groans and his hands move up her thighs. “Harry.” He hums, and she pulls her shirt up and off, then leans down, hands on either side of his head, and kisses him. God, he feels so good. “How can I effectively communicate how much I want you naked?”

He laughs a little, unhooks her bra. No, seriously. She’s gonna need him to get undressed. She should’ve thought of that before she pinned him to the bed. Oops. 

“Show me?” he suggests. 

She smiles at him, moves off him and starts undoing his pants, and think it’s unbelievably sexy, the way he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the bed when she presses her lips against his hip bone. 

… … …

It’s sometime around 1 in the morning and she’s drawing her fingers up and down his stomach, leaning her head on her elbow. He’s playing with her hair, which he did last time, too. 

“I secretly thought you might have a tattoo hiding somewhere,” she says, and he shakes his head. 

“I’m afraid of needles.” Allie lets out a soft laugh and files that bit of useless info away somewhere. “What else d’you think of me?”

“That you’re a little spoiled.” Look, she’s just not going to be dishonest. She figures there’s nothing to lose by being truthful. Even if she thinks or thought he was spoiled, it’s obviously not a fatal flaw and she doesn’t mind.

“I am.” They both laugh and he twirls a curl around his finger. “But I’m not a dick about it.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “Now me.” He hums in question. “What did you think about me?”

“That you were hot and I wanted to sleep with you.” She shoves him and he laughs, leans up and kisses her. 

“I’m serious.” He raises his brow as if to ask if she thinks he’s not. 

“I thought you were...sad.”

She doesn’t really know what to say to that. She gets why he’d think that. She was nervous and alone and afraid she’d made a mistake moving. She understands how that would or could translate to ‘sad’ without all the context. 

“I’m not, really.”

“Yeah. But that’s why I was working so hard to get you smiling,” he says with a grin. 

She doesn’t want to believe that, though she doesn’t really have a reason to. “I just thought you were flirting.”

“I was.” She laughs and he tugs her arm a little so she’s half on top of him, pressed all along his side. “‘S’how I knew I could make you smile.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, but moves again so she’s straddling him. (She’s learned the both equally like when she does this…) He sucks in a breath. “That’s what you think? That you can just charm people into being happy?”

“I mean…” He doesn’t finish, but he does sit up, which pushes them closer together and she feels him against her in the absolute best way. “It worked, right?”

This just got heavy. She does not hate it at all. She puts her arms around his neck again, shifts a bit and feels him hardening against her. 

“Harry,” she breathes, not knowing what else to say. 

She can’t honestly remember the last time she actually believed a guy she was seeing actually wanted to see her happy. 

How fucked up is that?

… … …

She’s chatting with Helena, leaning her hand on her coworkers’ desk. They’re talking about the mess that is the primaries, and Allie really likes talking politics with Helena, who is both super eloquent and has a poli sci degree and an ability to explain things in a way that is neither completely pretentious nor totally basic. 

But Harry comes over holding up two tickets in his hand and looking at Allie. 

“Game tonight?”

Helena rolls her eyes, stage whispers, “He’s showing off the fact he has season tickets because he thinks it’ll impress you.”

Allie just gives him a little smile, then looks back at Helena. “I literally couldn’t care less about basketball.”

“C’mon,” he says, and yeah, she was going to say yes before this, but even that little plea is boyish and cute enough that she thinks she’s a goner. “It’s fun. I’ll buy you expensive but shitty beer and all the pizza you want.”

He knows pizza is one of her favourite things ever. The ordered at his place the other night and she nearly grabbed him when he told her he went through a phase of wanting to perfect making pizza from scratch at home, and that he’ll make it for her sometime. 

“Shitty beer, mediocre pizza and a sport I don’t like? How could I resist?” Helena laughs. Harry’s grinning. 

“You forgot the terrible company,” he adds.

“You’re right. I must be a true masochist.” 

She ignores the look Helena’s giving her, because yeah, she’s saying yes and nothing to this point has lead anyone to believe she would. 

He nudges her with his elbow later, on the way to his car. He’s got his hands in his pockets, and she’s pulling on her denim jacket, tugging her hair from the collar. 

“You didn’t have to come.”

She raises a brow. “Are you kidding me?” She reaches for the door handle when he pops the locks to his car. “And miss out on telling everyone you took me on a first date to a _basketball game_?”

“Wait,” he says, but she’s in and closes the door, then he gets in, too, sets his hand on the wheel and turns his body towards her. “You think this is our first date?”

He says that like there’s something amusing about it. 

“Are you saying it’s not a date?”

He shakes his head, and fuck, his grin could make her do anything. 

“I’m saying we’ve been on other dates.”

Allie rolls her eyes and he starts the car, throws it into drive and pulls out of his spot. 

“Sex and alcohol at one of our apartments doesn’t count,” she argues.

“Hey,” he says, faking offense. “I cooked for you.”

She smiles, slides her hand over his shoulder and concedes that he’s right. He did do that. He made pasta and a salad, which is just like, the easiest thing in the world to make. And that was after work one day when she was anxious about her deadline and he texted her that she needed some stress relief. He’d gone down on her on his bed and then laughed when her stomach rumbled, offered to make her something to eat. 

Sure, it could be considered a date. But that’s definitely not how she’d looked at it. It’s a little endearing that he thinks it was.

She’s quiet a moment, until he reaches over and sets his hand on her leg, and all this feels so comfortable, so _intimate_ that she has to stop herself thinking it’s more than it is…

“If the kiss cam lands on us, I’m pretending I don’t know you.”

She loves making him laugh.

… … …

“Mom said you’re dating someone.”

Allie freezes, stops pouring cereal, and then looks at her laptop, where Cassandra’s face is displayed on the screen. She’s smiling like she wants in on the secret and likes that this was an ambush. 

And it’s really damn interesting, because she absolutely did not tell her mom anything about dating anyone.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Mhm,” Cassandra says, then rolls her eyes. “She saw a guy’s shirt in your place the other day when you were talking.” Allie’s pissed. She didn’t even think of that. And it’s not even a thing. It’s not like he leaves stuff here on purpose. He just forgot this denim button down. It’s still on that chair. How her mom could even guess it was someone else’s and not just hers is… “Who’s the guy?”

“You know,” she says, then takes a bite of Cheerios and chews, moves to the sofa and perches her laptop on her knees. “You all are jumping to a lot of conclusions. Like I can’t have a guy friend?”

“Name one guy friend you have!” Cassandra laughs, then adds, quickly, “Will doesn’t count.”

Allie’s a little annoyed at the mention of her childhood friend who dropped her as soon as he got a girlfriend. Especially because she’d been mostly in love with him as a teenager and he completely shot her down for someone he thought was better. It’s a touchy subject, if only because she’s probably always going to be a little embarrassed at the cliche of it all. God, don’t all girls fall in love with their best guy friends?

(Shit. It’s happening again, isn’t it?) 

“His name’s Harry,” she says, because honestly, keeping all this a secret from everyone is a little hot, but talking about it makes it feel more real, or something. Especially to Cassandra. 

Cassandra narrows her eyes. “You work with a guy named Harry.” Allie gives a ‘no shit’ look, then a ‘get there faster’ one. “Oh god, Allie.” She opens her mouth to say something, but Cassandra speaks first. “You know that’s a bad idea, right?”

Allie shrugs her shoulder. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“That’s because sex feels good and you can pretend…”

“I’m not pretending anything, and it’s not just sex,” she says, and yeah, she’s pissed at the assumption that this isn’t anything serious. They’re like, _dating_. She’s not just fucking some attractive guy because she can. She _likes_ him. “And it’s shitty of you to imply that, based on knowing absolutely nothing except he left a shirt in my house.”

Cassandra purses her lips, and looks like she wants to say something more. Allie prompts her to. 

“You have a bad habit of going after guys who’ll hurt you.”

“And again, you don’t know anything about this. We can’t all settle down at like, 17 with the guy we’re gonna marry, as if high school sweethearts ever actually stay together. Talk about pretending.”

They’re just looking at each other, and she knows she’s taken it too far, and said that just to be mean. 

“I’m hanging up now.”

Allie’s annoyed. Of course, Cassandra would have the last word by not even being able to hang up without being like, polite about it. It’s shitty of her. 

“Good,” she says instead, because it’s equally as awful and gives her the false sense that she’s won, somehow. 

She spends the rest of her morning cleaning her apartment angrily. Seriously. She scrubs things too much, throws items into the washer and tosses silverware back into the drawer after doing the dishes. Her pillows get fluffed, which is not a thing she ever does, just because it allows her to take out some aggression. When she puts the sheets back on her bed, she shakes them pretty hard to try to get them straight. 

By the time she’s got to leave her house, she feels only slightly better. She hates fighting with people she’s close to. Especially Cassandra, who usually understands her pretty well. And honestly, she’s a little hurt that this _is_ serious, and she _does_ feel good about it, and Cassandra wouldn’t even let her be excited about that. She immediately jumped to the conclusion that Harry’s a bad guy, or that being coworkers who see each other is like, career-ending or some kind of tragedy. Neither of those things seem true. Like, where’s the credit, or benefit of the doubt, that maybe Allie’s taste in men isn’t so shitty that _obviously_ she’s going to get hurt by this guy.

And Harry’s good to her. She won’t say she’s surprised. She’s just never been with someone whose attention she didn’t have to fight for, or who was honest with her the way he is. He’s sort of an open book, which she knows is a thing he didn’t used to be before going to therapy, and all that. He’s really just a good guy and he’s gone through the asshole stage faster than any of the other guys she’s ever met. And he admits that openly, too. He’s told her about some of the things he did when he was younger, and that he was proud of them at the time but isn’t anymore. He’s told her about girls he screwed around with (and screwed over) and some sort of sketchy shit he did when he was rebelling that definitely wasn’t legal. And he’s told her about his sort of serious issue with prescription drugs during his last year of high school, and how that’s why she’ll never see him have more than two drinks, and she’ll never see him with any other substance. 

When she parks at his place, she grabs his shirt off the passenger seat and then when he opens the door like he’s happy to see her (even though them hanging out was totally scheduled), she shoves the denim against his chest. 

“I’ve been looking for this.”

“Yeah, well it’s causing some serious shit in my life,” she says, and it’s absolutely an exaggeration that needs more explanation. He just pulls the shirt on over the white tee he has on, and god, if he could just be less hot for like, four minutes… “My mom saw it, assumed I’m seeing someone, told my sister, and we got into a fight.”

His brow furrows. “Because they saw a shirt?”

“I didn’t say it made sense. My family is...nosy as fuck.” He has the audacity to laugh, but then seems to notice that she’s actually upset, and puts his arms around her, presses his lips to her temple. “I hate fighting with her.”

“Yeah.”

(Yes, she’s told him all about the dynamic between her and Cassandra, and how everything is a competition because Allie has a bad habit of making it one, but Cassandra will never just lose. They’ve also talked about Cassandra’s health, and how fucked up it is that Allie always feels so goddamn scared of losing her sister. It’s literally a constant fear.)

(Anyway, he _gets it_ , and she really loves that.)

“She basically said this isn’t going to work.”

The way he says, “Well, what the fuck does she know?” is somehow both light, and full of defense for this. She moves her hands up his back, but he pulls away. “Is that how you feel?”

“Of course not,” she breathes. God, she doesn’t want him thinking she agrees with her sister’s assessment. She should’ve specified that she wasn’t upset because she thinks there’s any truth to it. “I love this.”

He gets this little smile on his face, takes a breath, and her heart feels weird, like she should have used a different word and he’s going to freak out. 

He just looks her in the eye and says, “I love this, too.”

He’s even more sincere than she was. 

They were supposed to go to a movie and then dinner. She wants to stay in, now. But he’s already bought the tickets and made a reservation. 

“You look amazing, by the way,” he says, pulling back and looking down at her. She’s literally wearing jeans and a grey tee shirt with a blazer. It’s nothing fancy. “You’re so hot?”

“Why is that a question?” she laughs. 

“Wondering how I got so lucky,” he says, and she moves her fingers into his hair just the way he likes. 

“Pity, from this side.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, then brushes his lips against hers. 

“Obviously.”

“Allie,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

She’s smiling when he kisses her again. 

Honestly, fuck what her sister thinks. If this isn’t real and good, she doesn’t know what is.

… … …

There’s a work social thing that she doesn’t necessarily want to go to, but everyone else is and she’s sure it’ll be fun when she’s there. She just always hates shit like this. Force social interaction with people you wouldn’t normally spend time with. She’s friends with some people from work, but those friendships happened organically, not because of after-work drinks and axe throwing on a Friday night. She thinks these particularly violent, weird social things are actually super alienating and make people (mostly the women, at least of who she’s spoken to) uncomfortable. They’re also super ableist. She’s not on the social committee, nor does she want to be, but she wishes they had an anonymous suggestion box, or something.

She’s getting her second beer, which will be her last, because she hates drinking at work stuff. Her mom always told her it was tacky and there are some things that just stick. Plus, at her last job, she saw too many people drinking to excess and being the talk of the office the next day. She’s not about to be that person. 

Harry’s talking to Helena and this guy, Dan, who works on their video content team. She was over with a bunch of the folks from the pop culture department before her glass was empty and she was looking for an out anyway. She just wants to hang out with her friends, and Harry catches her eye from where he’s standing. She’s going to his place after this. They’re going on a hike tomorrow morning and want to leave early. He said something really, really adorable the other day about wanting to take pictures or something, and when she asked what he wanted pictures of, he’d said, “You,” all bashful. 

She is so, so into him. It’s starting to scare her. Or it would, if it didn’t feel so good. 

Evan, a developer, stops her on her way towards Harry and Helena, and tells her her piece on the convent was, “Like, really, really impactful and special.” She hasn’t had her writing described as special since she was about 13, or something. But he’s being earnest and sweet, and she thinks it’s kind of him to go out of his way to tell her, when really, they’ve only ever seen each other in the cafeteria, since they would literally never work on anything together. 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” 

“It made me go back and read all your other stuff,” he admits, a little bashfully, which he plays off well. Allie smiles at him. “It’s all really great.”

“That’s so kind,” she tells him, and he smiles a little. “How’d you become a developer?” 

What? She doesn’t mind when conversations happen organically like this. And he had a good start, what with the flattering. It’d be sort of shitty of her to just say thanks and brush him off for another group of people. Plus, she feels like there’s time to do both of those things, so she listens to Evan tell her about attending college for computer science, and then going to a bootcamp to learn a little more before landing here. He can’t be more than 23. He’s cute and definitely sweet. 

She laughs at something he says about Portland’s music scene, and catches Harry’s eye. He’s just sipping his water and watching her, though someone he’s standing with - Helena’s walked off, apparently - is saying something he should probably be listening to. He blinks slowly, then looks a little bashful and looks back to the guy who’s talking. 

Evan asks her what her favourite coffee shop is, and says that if she wants some brunch recommendations, he and his friends built a software to generate the best options for whatever you’re in the mood for. 

Harry keeps looking over here. 

(Granted, she keeps looking at him, too.)

When she excuses herself from the conversation with Evan, she sets her half empty beer on a nearby table and heads for the washroom. She texts Harry that she’s ready to leave any time he is. 

It’s absolutely going to look suspicious that they’re leaving together. They don’t usually do it this way. With a couple exceptions, they typically go their separate ways and then meet up later. Leaving straight from work - or a work thing - together in one car may be a dead giveaway. 

Harry’s waiting outside where they said they’d meet when she walks out. He just says, “Hey. Ready?”

He’s a little quiet in the car, and it doesn’t take a lot to understand why. She just waits until they’re inside his apartment to mention anything. He tosses his keys on the counter, sets her bag down (she’d told him he didn’t need to carry it, but he’d insisted) and tosses his phone on the sofa. He pushes up his sleeves and tries to walk past her to get something in the kitchen. 

“Harry.” He hums in response, and Allie steps in front of him, grinning. “ _Harry_.” 

He looks at her, then. “What?” he sort of laughs. 

She kisses him quickly, then lifts herself up onto the counter so she’s sitting there, and hooks her feet around his legs, pulls him close. He sets his hands on the counter, not on her. It’s fine. He looks amazing like that. 

“You were a little jealous?” she asks, because it’s a given, and it’s cute, and they can totally talk about this without it being a whole thing. 

“I think jealous is a strong word.” She nods, but doesn’t really believe him. “Like, I’m literally between your legs right now. What do I have to be jealous over?” She shoves him gently, and he laughs, and then she slides forward a little so she’s closer to him. “I like that everyone sees how great you are.”

Allie tilts her head. He’s like, _evolved_. One of her exes literally tried to fight his own friend for calling her sexy. 

“What’s with the quiet thing, then?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I don’t like people _hitting on you_.” She laughs, then, and he reaches up, drags his thumb along her collarbone. “I wasn’t worried.”

Allie scoffs. “You were...what, exactly?”

“I was…” He stops to think about it, watches his hand touching her skin. “Thinking how bummed he’d be if he knew you were gonna leave with me regardless.”

She isn’t buying it. “Were you really? Or were you thinking how good you felt knowing that?” 

He grins a little, shrugs a shoulder. “You get me.”

… … …

Helena comes over for brunch, and then the plan is to go shopping at a few thrift stores in Allie’s neighbourhood because there are a bunch of great places. Allie’s frying eggs and sipping coffee and Helena’s playing DJ, picking all the songs she wants them to listen to. Really, they just settle on Billie Eilish and sing along not very well. 

When they sit down, Helena places her napkin on her lap, picks up her fork, and asks, “So, how long have you and Harry actually been sleeping together?”

Allie freezes, panics, and at once realizes how stupid she was not to just tell her friend about it because while it’s a big deal, it’s also really sort of nothing. At least in the sense that they need to keep it a secret from Helena. She’s literally the most loyal and non-gossipy person Allie’s ever met. 

“Months,” she confesses, and Helena smiles, shakes her head, and gives a look that says she wants more of an explanation. “It just...I’m really into him.” Helena’s listening. Waiting, maybe. Probably to hear something she couldn’t have already assumed. “It’s the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Explains why you’ve kept it a secret.” Allie goes to talk. “Shit. Sorry. That was petty. I just felt left out when I realized and then had to wait forever for you to say something.”

“Left out?” Allie asks, brow raised. “I mean, not sure we’re looking for a third, but…” Helena rolls her eyes so hard it makes Allie laugh. “Why were you like, trying to warn me about him?”

Because if she’s being honest, one of her reasons for not sharing this with Helena was that she feared a bit of judgment based on her friend’s general thoughts towards Harry. They’re obviously friends, too, or at least friendly, but there’s something there that Allie can’t put her finger on. Like Helena has no time for him because of something no one’s really talking about.

“He’s just...He comes off like every rich, attractive guy, and I can’t stand that. When he’s actually being himself, he’s great.” Yeah, Allie knows that, too. But she, unlike Helena, apparently, sort of likes the cocky thing that comes from being a rich guy. At least when he keeps it in check. If he was just some privileged asshole, she definitely wouldn’t be into him. “And I hate that he flirts with everyone.”

Allie laughs. He does do that. She thinks she’s just always been able to tell when he’s just being charming and when he’s actually flirting with the goal of getting something out of it. It’s a fine balance. 

She must be quiet a little too long, because Helena says, “You’re actually really happy,” and Allie confirms it. “He seems to be, too. I just sort of wish you’d told me sooner.”

“You’re right,” Allie says, and then lifts her coffee mug. “I’m bad at letting people know my business. I’m sorry.”

“Oh god, don’t apologize. I get it. I just want you to know you can talk to me.”

Honestly, Allie’s pretty sure she’s making better friends here in Portland than she’s had in her entire life. 

… … …

It’s been three weeks since she spoke to her sister, and she’d somehow let herself forget that Cassandra had bought a plane ticket to come visit at the end of this month. Allie’s at Harry’s place, reading on his sofa with him lying with his head on her lap. She’s playing with her hair when her phone rings on the table and he hands it to her without looking at the screen. 

“Shit,” she mutters, and closes her book as Harry looks at her like he’s confused, or maybe worried. She answers. “Hey.”

“Hi.” There’s silence on the line, and Cassandra seems to feel the need to fill it. “My ticket is non-refundable. Can we please make up so this trip can be what we wanted it to be?”

Allie sighs, and the way Harry’s looking at her lets her know he can hear both sides of the convo. He’s put his book down, too. 

“I’m mad at you.”

“I’m mad at you, too, but are we just never going to talk again because we both got upset and said mean things to each other?” Harry lets out a small laugh. Allie doesn’t know how she feels about that. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry. I know why it hurt your feelings. I did an awful job of expressing my concern and it ended up sounding like I thought you couldn’t make good choices.”

Harry murmurs, “Damn. That’s a good apology,” and Allie pushes at his head gently and makes him laugh. 

“He’s right,” Cassandra says, and Allie’s wondering how the hell these two people in her life have super fucking human hearing. 

She still hesitates a moment before saying, “I’m sorry, too.” She, herself, is actually terrible at apologizing. “I said that only to hurt your feelings, which is bitchy.”

“Yeah. I love Gordie. We’re not pretending.”

“I know.”

“We’re getting married.”

Allie freezes. Harry looks up at her as if to ask if she knew that. “What? Did he…”

“He has a ring. I know he has a ring. He doesn’t know that I know he has a ring,” Cassandra confesses, and Allie laughs. That like, perfectly sums up their relationship. Cassandra is always just a half step ahead of him, but it works well for them. 

“What time does your flight get in?”

“I’ll forward you the itinerary.”

They say they love each other when they hang up, and Harry, for some unknown reason, looks smug. Like he had anything to do with this. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Nothing.” He picks up his book again. Allie’s just staring at him. He must know he’s not getting off the hook that easily. “I think she likes me already.”

“She’s wary, at best.”

“Mhm. She’s gonna love me.”

“You’re arrogant. She hates that.” She’s teasing. Mostly. Harry reaches for her arm, kisses the inside of her wrist. 

“But you like it,” he says, and she rolls her eyes. 

“We’re really different people.” He chuckles and she tries to focus on her book again, but can’t stop thinking how relieved she is that they’ve made up, or mostly made up. She’s sure they’ll talk more in person. Likely over cups of tea in Allie’s apartment. “I’ve never introduced a boyfriend to my sister before. Not since high school.”

He hums. “I’ll be my most likeable self.”

She believes him. 

… … …

She realizes, later, that she’s never called him that before. Her boyfriend. He didn’t bat a lash at it, but she still has a moment of panic, thinking she’s being presumptuous, despite the fact that they’ve been sleeping together for months and they established within the first month that neither of them was interested in seeing other people. 

“So,” she says, leaning up on her elbow in bed. It’s dark and he’s just lying there with his eyes closed but he’s not sleeping, she can tell. “You wanna be my boyfriend, huh?”

He looks at her like she’s lost her goddamn mind, which looks better on him than it should, honestly. “I’ve _been_ your boyfriend,” he informs her. Then narrows his eyes jovially. “Do you think I haven’t been your boyfriend?”

Allie shrugs her shoulder. “You’ve never called me your girlfriend.”

“Not to your face.”

She grins. “You talking about me, Bingham?”

Harry leans up, slips a hand into her hair and kisses her in a way that makes her moan and roll onto her back, taking him with her. 

“What else would I talk about?” he asks, and god, it’s such a ridiculous thing to say, but he makes it sound somehow both sweet and insanely hot at the same time, and if she had a dollar for every time she thought about how crazy she is about him...

… … ...

The first two days Cassandra is in Portland, they spend together, just the two of them. Allie takes time off work and they eat at this biscuit place Harry introduced her to that literally changed her perception of the food scene in this city. They go shopping at all the same stores Cassandra could go to back home. She convinces Allie to buy a dress she doesn’t need, just because it looks good on her and it’s 30% off. Then they get up early and drive to the coast to Haystack Rock, which looks massive in person, and the ocean is freezing, but they put their feet in anyway, and then get coffee and sit on logs and people watch. 

Harry uses one of his connections to get them - the three of them - a table at this amazing restaurant. And Allie thinks it’s way over the top and they could’ve literally ordered Indian and stayed at her place, but, even though he hasn’t said it, he’s trying to impress Cassandra. And though he’s gotta know that she won’t be impressed by money or status or really good French food, Allie at least likes that he’s really trying here. He’s a little nervous about it, though the way his nerves manifest, is going a little over the top with wanting to ‘treat’ them. 

He is absolutely charming, and when she sets her hand on his knee under the table, he looks over and winks as Cassandra looks to her plate. Allie swipes bread through the garlic butter left on her plate as Harry and her sister laugh at something. Cassandra is, for all her sense manners and kindness, is really super hard on people she thinks she needs to be hard on. Like friends, family, and, apparently, Allie’s boyfriend. She’s not rude about it, but when she asks him questions about stuff, it’s clear she’s looking for specific answers. And Allie knows this, and knows Harry’s doing pretty well. He’s also doing a great job of pushing back when he needs to. Allie knows Cassandra probably likes that, too. Even though Cassandra loves being the smartest person in the room, she also loves not being the _only_ smart person in the room. 

Allie kisses him quickly outside the car when he drops them off at her place. She and Cassandra split a bottle of wine while he drank sparkling water, so she’s just slightly drunk and super into him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night?” she asks, and he nods, his hand on her hip. Cassandra’s standing there next to them and Allie thinks he’s trying not to be really overt about this.

“It was really great to meet you,” he tells Cassandra and reaches his hand out. Cassandra sort of rolls her eyes and opens her arms, looks at him like she’s not sure if he’s into it. He just chuckles and goes for it. Allie pulls her keys from her purse and he kisses her cheek, repeats, “Tomorrow night,” like he’s really looking forward to it. 

She is, too. She knows it’s stupid to feel like she misses him so much. It’s only been 5 days, but that’s 5 days she hasn’t been alone with him, and she’s definitely used to more than that. She likes their time together. She likes that he seems to like it, too. 

Cassandra’s just staring at her as they get inside and Allie hangs her purse by the door where she usually does and kicks off her shoes. 

Well, staring at her and grinning, which is sort of weird as hell.

“What?” she laughs. 

Cassandra kind of knocks her on her ass by saying, “He’s in love with you.”

It’s not a question, but no, Allie isn’t like…

Look, he hasn’t said it, and she hasn’t given it much thought. Okay, that’s not true. She’s spent a lot of time thinking about how she feels about him. Which is really strongly. Like...Okay, she’s been teetering on the edge of falling for him completely, and she thinks her only hesitation is that it’s hard to consider going there alone. Or maybe she’s just scared, because she hasn’t ever really felt this way about anyone before, and the last time she even _thought_ she was in love with someone, she pretty much had the rug pulled out from under her.

So her response is completely unlike her, and it’s, “You think so?”

Cassandra just laughs and shakes her head. “Positive.”

Allie can’t stand how happy it makes her. It literally makes her want to roll her eyes at herself for being such a fucking cliche. 

When she hugs Cassandra goodbye at the airport the next day, her sister holds her at arm’s length and says, seriously, “You should tell him how you feel,” as if she knows for a fact that Allie was just planning on ignoring it completely until he said something himself. 

Whatever. So what if she was?

… … …

Look, she’s smart, and she was on the debate team in high school, and she prides herself on being informed and able to argue her position. Her job sort of depends on it. 

What that also means is that when she gets into fights with the people in her life, it’s hard for almost anyone else to win. 

Going toe to toe with Harry, though, feels entirely different. There’s no satisfaction in this. 

Honestly, maybe part of it is that this feels like a fight, not a disagreement. They’ve had disagreements before. She can’t think of any one of those that felt like a _fight_. She’s not conflict averse. She doesn’t shy away from it. Right now, that’s coming back to bite her, because she’s learning he doesn’t back down, either. 

And it’s even more ridiculous, because they aren’t even fighting over anything important. Well, not really. Which is hard for her to say because it forces her to confront herself, too, and try to admit why she picked the fight in the first place. 

Even she can admit that he hasn’t really done anything wrong. At least nothing wrong enough to warrant how she’s fighting back. 

On one hand, she’s glad they’re at her house. On the other, she wishes she could leave, and that she could be alone. But here he is, standing in her living room with his arms crossed like he’s standing firm in his position, too, and the fucked up thing, truly, is that she _likes that_ , too. She’s practically begging him to put up a fight or even to prove her wrong. She’s self-aware enough to know that until he does, she’s going to keep needling on this topic. 

“You’re being…”

She raises her brow when he doesn’t finish, and he at least looks embarrassed or something. Like he knows what he was going to say wasn’t going to land well. He shouldn’t back down. 

“I’m being what?” 

He looks her in the eye and she swears she sees the moment he figures her out entirely. It makes her uncomfortable. It makes her feel childish. It makes her feel like she did when she was 11 and she used to use the excuse of feeling like a lesser Cassandra to get her way with her parents and they finally told her she was old enough to take charge of her own actions and choices sometimes, too. 

“Fucking unreasonable.” Okay, the curse is unnecessary, but the assessment isn’t all off. “And you know you are.” She narrows her eyes and he grins smugly, which she hates, and she’s absolutely conflicted, because she _likes_ that he knows her this well. That anyone knows her this well. But she wants to win. “Admit it.”

“No.”

He laughs. “Because I’m wrong, or because you’re too prideful?”

“Who do you think you are?” is the first thing that spills from her mouth, which is just...It’s such a stupid thing to say, and it doesn’t mean anything at all. And he knows it, too. 

He steps closer. She wants to… “Can I touch you?” 

Her heart swells. She’s losing ground here; she’s practically conceding it. But she loves that he’s asking. That he’s not just doing what he wants. He respects her enough to want to make sure she’s got a say in how they move forward from this point. 

(And she is absolutely also thinking of all the other times he’s said those words in an entirely different context, and how much she fucking loves _that_ , too.)

“If you want to.” He grins. She’s so fucked. She’s expecting him to take her by the hips, or something, but what he does is wrap his fingers loosely around her wrists. 

“Can I tell you why I’m annoyed by all this?” he says, and if this is him annoyed (it’s not, she knows; she’s seen him in traffic) she marvels again at the benefits of therapy. She just nods. Mostly because she’s losing here, and she doesn’t know what to say that won’t basically mean she’s given up. Even though she has. He doesn’t need to know that. (He already does.) 

Okay, so she is absolutely being fucking unreasonable, and she has a moment of panic thinking that if she doesn’t stop, he’ll leave. 

But his thumb moves over her pulse and he’s looking at her like she’s…

(He’s not going to leave.)

“When’re you just going to admit you’re in love with me?” he asks her in this voice that makes her feel like she might scream. This isn’t _right_ , okay? She isn’t supposed to… “Because I know you are.”

She breathes, “Harry,” and looks downward. Which could almost be considered a mistake, because seeing how he’s holding her is just a reminder of how much she likes that he gets her. 

“And you’re freaking out because you know it, too, and it’s...fucking scary, okay? I get it. But I’m not…”

She looks back up. He’s holding back now, at the entirely wrong moment. “What?” she asks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and it’s beautiful, really, but it’s not what she wants to hear, and she tenses her jaw. But then she sees something shining in his eyes and he takes a breath like he’s gathering his nerve. “I’m completely in love with you.”

His grip tightens just slightly, like there’s part of him that’s worried she’s going to pull away and argue this, too, but as much as she doesn’t want to, she can’t help smiling, just a little, and then letting out her breath. 

(Cassandra was right. She should’ve just told him.)

“You’re right,” she says softly. 

He rolls his eyes. She almost laughs. But he knows she’s stubborn.

“What’m I right about?”

She bites her lip, tugs one of her hands free and reaches up to play with a button on his shirt at his chest. 

“You are completely in love with me.”

Okay, _now_ he’s teetering on annoyed. He presses his tongue against his teeth and blinks once, slowly, like she’s testing him. 

She totally is, but she’s also being a brat. 

“I said what I said,” he tells her, and the rest is implied: _Say it back_.

She waits a beat, and he looks down. 

“Harry.” He won’t look up. She uses her hand to tilt his chin up. God, he’s fucking stunning. She whispers, “I love you,” so quietly she’d almost wonder if he hears her. 

The way he kisses her lets her know he has.

… … …

He wears an apron when he’s making pizza dough. She wears his Trailblazers hoodie and not much else. Granted, she’s not making anything at all, and he’d teased her, when she offered to grate cheese, or something, that she’d probably skin her knuckles on the box grater. She’s not, she’ll have him know, totally awful in the kitchen. But she also likes not having to help, and he laughs when she says so. So yeah, that’s how she’s sitting on a stool at his counter sipping San Pallegrino and watching him knead. 

There’s music on, because they have the pre-game muted. (He gave his tickets to Helena and Luke for tonight’s game, and wants to act like that isn’t a big deal even though the Warriors are in town and he’s practically as in love with Steph Curry as he is with her.)

Harry sings - so, so badly - along with Kevin Garrett, and apparently hears her chuckle, turns around. 

He’s got flour on his cheek, this professional apron on, and his hair’s all over the place. He’s barefoot and looks an absolute mess. 

“I’ve never wanted you more,” she comments, and he rolls his eyes dramatically and tells her to shut up. 

She kinda wasn’t lying.


End file.
